Luyện nghe bài hát Color My World Mine

I once met a man who trained himself not to
What he to have seen was a glimpse of everything
He's painting pictures on canvas since age thirteen
And claims he exists in the mind of a higher being
And I enjoy his work; mostly scenic
But each one is focused on an easel where the man himself painting himself
And all that's in his visual
He said this was the only way he make himself real
Ever since he could remember, he had one reoccur
But until about ten years ago, it matter
It consisted of loud, distorted sounds off the concrete
He ran on top of it in attempt to a ladder
Now sometimes, he'd get so close but touch his destination
Which caused him much frustration 'cause he didn't what it meant
And by the end of the dream, he saw the scene from a eye
to witness his dead body laying on the cement

It was only to witness his dead body on the cement
At first it freaked him out, but after a while he grew
So he thought, "It's just a dream," and living his life
Writing his soul on the canvas 'cause it his planet light
And it goes on and on like space and time, ain't odd
It's not that he didn't believe, he didn't approve of God
His was one I couldn't comprehend
'Till I stopped being detective and to him as a friend
He

He saw a painting that told his whole life story
It was that he knew he was the art of divinity
He once saw a that told his whole life story
A brush of the gods made him one note in their symphony
He once saw a painting told his whole life story
He spoke for and not the rest of humanity
He once saw a painting that told his life story
And I realize that I'm not
God imagined me

like I said
About ten years ago, the event that his whole reality
Took place on his monthly to the local art gallery
It was where he studied his contemporaries
And there where he nearly his sanity to a hole and buried it forever
It was a mysterious day
The place was empty
And he got down his spine just being present in the scene
On the wall, there was a picture that familiar
And when he got close, his stopped
he saw it was a painting of his dream
It was a of his dream
His on a runway
By a ladder to an with its propellers spinning
accounted for the loud noise
The match up was
And that was the day he stopped in existing
He his creator
I mean, words can't
What must have on in his brain while he stared into a frame
Of a work of art which he created and was at the time
The can't handle that much, it's just insane
It's like reading a book where each describe your thoughts
And in quotations, it reads you say when you talk
You it can't happen
But it did
I guess there's surprisingly wide cracks in each life's
He stumbled upon an answer he never had a question
And decided to stop dreaming to maintain his mental
Now he hardly to people
Just in his basement
Writing infinity, by himself
Painting
is a strange universe
Is it all just a
In the real universe, is my consciousness
Are we really something a higher intelligence up?
A figment of imagination colored by a cosmic
Maybe all of our art the fate of other beings
Then every character in ever novel thinks it's alive and were gods
blindly
Just a
I don't what it means
But that's the story of the man who trained not to dream

He once saw a that told his whole life story
He witnessed the paradox of the "existing"
He once saw a that told his whole life story
He colored his world theirs, and concluded he wasn't
He once saw a painting that told his life story
The variable that all that is is art
And when I close my eyes, I see eternity as a
A God imagined the God that me
And I am God
And so on